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2 T Northallerton R. Armagh S. C. s 5 36 3 F Liverpool Hunt Races.

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Twentieth Sunday after Trin.r 6 11

7 T Chester Races.

8 W North Union Coursing Meeting. 9 T Bedford Races. Richmond R. 10 F Oxford and Camb. Term begins. 11 S Old Michaelmas Day. 12

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13 M Newmarket Second October M. 14 T Cesarewitch Stakes Day.

15 W South Lancashire Coursing M. 16 T Perth Races.

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"There he sat, and, as I thought, expounding the law and the prophets, until on drawing a little nearer, I found he was only expatiating on the merits of a brown horse."-BRACEBRIDGE HALL.

The year is fast beginning "to slant its autumnal slope;" and a racing season of anything but a brilliant character is approaching its close. Warwick, which had, like the three legs on the Manx halfpenny, Melissa here, Melissa there, and Melissa everywhere, failed under its new three-days' régime; while Derby did not suffer from the encroachment. Ashmall reappeared here in the saddle, as Lord Ribblesdale had done as owner at Warwick; and little Mundy, on crutches, found his way to Doncaster, where Charley Marlow, whose leg is hardly strong enough to admit of his "wasting" this year, was also a looker-on. The recollections of Palmer spoilt the entries at Lichfield; and Calloway had a melancholy list of entries. Even Mr. Parr sent no horse to oppose Mr. Sykes, for the Queen's Plate; but Fisherman, with George Hall-that most faithful of valets to the Wantage stud-on his back, beat Rogerthorpe for that prize at Weymouth. This contretemps, added to the fall of Fazzoletto, gave the last kick to the St. Leger. We believe that Lord Derby's horse has broken down in the pastern of the off front-foot, and that it was not till he had nearly reached home, after pulling up from a very severe gallop, in which Warlock led, that it was discovered. We are told that John Scott had great difficulty in deciding, last year, where his weak point really was; and it is only wonderful that he has kept him on his legs so long. Trainers are having much trouble at present; and an epidemic is regularly going through stables, which developes itself in the legs filling, the heels cracking, and water fairly running from them. In fact, the Vets have been sorely puzzled. But I must hie forward to Doncaster, which I only reached at half-past ten on Monday night. Getting lodgings was no easy game. Scarcely a person thought of asking less than £2 for a mere bed; and one old dame declined to take in such as did not come in parties of three, and would not look at a solitary pilgrim. To my great delight, she never let her rooms that week. Would that these greedy geese would take a lesson from York! and many was the comparison which floated on the wind, couched in no roseate language. As the Christ Church clock pointed to half-past seven, I was on my road to the course, where things were sadly flat. Ellington arrived on Monday night, but did not, we are told, take a gallop-a fact which was remembered, to Tom Dawson's disadvantage, when the race was over. Wells, who now walks in Scotch attire, was sending Bonnie Scotland merrily along; and Artillery also went "great guns" more than

once. The principal discourse was of the premature scratching of Lord Glasgow's horse; and his lordship was described as being in a perfect frenzy of vexation. Sir Tatton Sykes and Sir George Strickland met us on our way back to the course; but now that Tom Carter has gone, the former does not ride to Doncaster, and came quietly by the train. Lord Derby, who seems to have quite got over his gout, also showed towards the close; but the company generally was below par. There were some large parties in the neighbourhood; and the Sandbeck hounds opened the sport by meeting at Swinny Wood, and killing a fox, within a field of Bawtry. This fun, we believe, went on all the race-week, for those who were fortunate enough to get the eight-o'clock "office." Thirteen out of twenty went to the Fitzwilliam post; and Preston won cleverly from old Bourgeois. It is the fate of young Gill's horses to be perpetually second. Skirmisher opened his mouth like any crocodile, below the distance, and went four distinct times at Bourgeois; or else he would, to our mind, have won, and not let his kinsman Preston slip in as he did. Preston's sire, Barnton, will not improbably go into the royal stud. Mr. Ridley has refused a thousand for him, and, it is said, wants three hundred for the rent. Ignoramus made a fearful example of the white roan colt by Hernandez, and is certainly the finest twoyear-old we ever saw. His off front-foot is clubby; but, with luck and care, he looks wonderfully like carrying the "all green" of Wentworth in front for the St. Leger next year. He carries his saddle almost on his withers, and is far the stoutest and best-grown Dutchman that has been out as yet; but the one which most resembles "the great Rawcliffe horse" is a colt out of John Cosser's dam, in Fobert's stables, who is the horse's likeness on a smaller scale. We fancy that Mr. Fitzwilliam will train at Danebury no longer, and that his horses will join his brother's, under George Abdale's care. The three are all at Milton (where Pollard is now the Amadis of the hour), and have been for some weeks past; Wentworth and Milton at the Steward's house, near the Ferry; and Aspasia in a box in the hunting stables. Sharpshooter died the very day the Champagne Stakes were run; and hence, only eight went to the post, among whom Anton, the fifteen-hundred-guinea youth, and certainly elegance itself, whipped in. Lambourne not only lost start (Mr. Hibburd was under an evil star this meeting), but did not look quite up to the mark, and Goldfinch and King of the Forest are nothing beyond what they look-short distance gentlemen. Vanity is a very elegant Belsay vanity indeed, with quite a Sweetmeat head, and Tasmania was really and truly as "long as a town." John Holmes brought her through her horses with a tremendous whip flourish, and he and Peck got a good turn at last. "Give me but the cattle, and I'll turn my back on no man,' was Jack's energetic remark when he had weighed in. This was his only mount during the meeting, and Templeman and Cartwright had none. All "Sim's" good old masters— Sir Thomas Stanley, Col. Cradock, Mr. Meiklam, to wit-have gone; and he has met with such unhandsome treatment of late years, that we doubt whether he cares to waste again. Cartwright has entered on his Nottingham public-house; and thus "Job" and Holmes are the only representatives of the old Yorkshire school left. The Champagne

was one of the prettiest races of the year. Goldfinch, Imperieuse, Vanity, and Lambourne (next the rails) seemed each to have the best of it in turn, and each finished in the order in which he made his run. Nat kept very quiet with Typee while the great rebellion (which soon made "a dem'd moist unpleasant body" of Saraband) raged at the post, and did not bring her till within a dozen strides from home, and even then he only "rode her," and dared not touch her with the whip. She is a mare who cannot "come again," and she died in his hands both at York and Chester, owing to his challenging too far from home. Lord Chesterfield seemed highly delighted, and walked smiling back to scale at her side; but there was no cheering, as the "red-and-blue" seem to be rather forgotten in Yorkshire since Don John's day. The glorious finish between five reconciled many to the heavy-weight scale; still the Stewards could not let the thing rest there, but had the coolness to call one of the London sporting editors before them, to demand on what authority he had made certain statements about the handicaps in the papers. They, however, found their match, and will pause before they try their thumb-screw notions on "the fourth estate" again. The Jockey Club had better inquire how it was that the weights for the Cesarewitch got wind at Warwick, hours before they were published in the Racing Calendar. The Trapper's weight, for instance, was no secret whatever, and he was backed in the ring on the strength of it. Blink Bonny once more bore young l'Anson to victory, after his York reprimand from "the governor," and made the spectators regret that she and Ignoramus could not come together this year. Still there was one enthusiast, who took two to one that Lady Hawthorne would beat her whenever they met again. Rickledon, a light little animal, for whom a purchaser refused to give £20 before the race, brought £140 to the fund (which made £335 during the week), and gave an earnest of Mr. Nichol's success next day, and the gas-lights were merrily burning as we once more walked down Hall-gate.

A duller St. Leger eve was never passed in Doncaster. It seemed as if that great struggle and its excitement had been blotted out of memory for the time being. There were one or two anticipatory whimpers about Victoria, but nothing else seemed even to get a mention. The scratching of Fazzoletto had fairly plucked the heart out of the affair. This feeling was quite as strong in London, and the telegraph announced at eight o'clock that the Doncaster dream of "five thousand have taken tickets by the special" had faded into 368! Still the crowd was anything but meagre, as it ranged itself by the cords, and awaited the Municipal Stakes. Zuyder Zee, who must have won this with nearly a stone in hand, was an absentee-thrown up, we believe, out of leg considerations. Albeit his plucky owner does not despair. He has given a thousand guineas for Barbelle's West Australian colt foal, and the old mare has visited her young lover again, but they do say that this is the last season she will go to the horse. Two only came out for the above stake, and many a neck was stretched to see Bel Oiseau, of whom some Maltonians (including a barber) have declared their belief that he was John Scott's best. He was a bandaged and not a bad-looking colt; but Nat (whose riding the stable were said to be anything but pleased with) brought him too soon, and the Clarissa colt fairly out-lasted him.

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A little more patience, as it struck us, would have done it. People now say Colonist is the horse. Bel Esperanza gave Sir Richard Bulkeley another taste of luck; and a game springy mare she is, with The Dutchman's Roman head in perfection. This trial with Plausible, who gave her 30lbs. for the two years, was a very true and severe one. Jack Sheppard looked the model of a hunter, and his quarters are the prettiest things I know: but the Iagoes are all great on that point. And now the nine numbers went up the telegraph, and spectators, who knew but little of the game in which "merry men" delight, looked in vain for Lundyfoot. Alfred Day saddling Rogerthorpe, who did not seem the horse of the Goodwood Cup day, was the first symptom of the coming strife; and then Bonnie Scotland, looking uncommonly majestic (the Iago quarters again!) in his white sheets, marched down the course with Wells behind him, while Osborne followed just after him in the track of the Orlando colt. There was quite a hum of pleasure as the sheets were taken off Artillery; and never did horse look more bright and beautiful. Ellington's presence was betokened by a busy crowd in the corner of the great Town Field nearly a quarter of a mile away, and at last he was seen slowly approaching with a body-guard of some five hundred clustering round him. Cassidy was at his head; the sheeted Panmure, with Bates up, in front; while Tom Dawson, with his pony at his side, completed the cavalcade. His supporters did not like the fact of his not facing the enclosure and going straight up the course at once; and it struck us that there was a deep-black and soft hue about his coat which did not coincide with the hard muscular frame we have kept in our mind's eye since the Derby Day. His canter was well taken, but the sweat was plain to see between his legs before he turned round to take it; and a conviction seemed to flash through the crowd that it was not his day. "Won't do-won't do," was on every lip. Merlin was little noticed, and John Scott did not valet his horses personally as they passed down the course from the Rubbing House. Perren led Nat on Warlock, who looked the beau ideal of a short, nimble Birdcatcherhorse, powerful in the arm and neat in the head, capital in the barrel, and as hard as nails in condition; and Job followed, on Victoria. The latter had the sneaking affections of the stable, but she seemed light and over-trained. Squire Watt was a gigantic chesnut, who did anything but credit to his honoured Yorkshire prototype of Blacklock, Lottery, and Tramp memory. The race is easily told. Ellington jumped off like an arrow out of a longbow, but in a few strides Aldcroft had him back in the seventh place; and long ere the distance was reached the telescopes heralded his fall. At one time it seemed as if Artillery, next the rails, was winning cleverly, but Warlock answered the moment Nat took him by the head, and his victory was ridiculously easy. According to this running, Fazzoletto would have fairly lost the field. Tom Dawson plainly said that he had no excuse to offer for his horse's running. My own impression is, that Aldcroft's mode of riding him at the start destroyed what little chance he had. Instead of letting the horse, who jumped away generously enough, get some advantage out of his start, he never attempted to steady him gradually, and coax him to fall back inch by inch into the rear, as a great artiste would have done, but he pulled him back by main force, and fairly overset his temper. In fact, the horse was, I think, beaten in the first hundred

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